


You've Been Sad (I've Been Lonely)

by ProblematicFavesAreProblematic (SaritaNotSerena)



Category: Band of Brothers (TV 2001)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Lack of Communication, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:14:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28974951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaritaNotSerena/pseuds/ProblematicFavesAreProblematic
Summary: You and Joe grieve in different ways- his just happens to hurt more
Relationships: Joseph Liebgott/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	You've Been Sad (I've Been Lonely)

Joe had been trying to get into a fight with you all week.

He’d first gotten nitpick-y, then he’d gotten bitchy. You had known him long enough by now to know that his anger didn’t actually have anything to do with you, that more often than not he was just trying to work through something within himself and rather than _deal_ with the discomfort he was lashing out.

But tonight was different.

Tonight, he’d become  _ mean. _

You’d picked up takeout for dinner on your way home, ignoring his complaints about how late your job kept you and how he wished you knew how to cook.

Per usual, you’d thrown your own (although significantly more dialed back) quips at him- telling him that he had eyes and two hands to figure out how to cook, too. That some nights he didn’t come home until five in the morning and he never saw you complaining.

The proverbial straw had come when he refused to eat dinner because ‘you forgot to tell them no pickles’ on his burger. 

Tired of his bullshit, you’d grabbed his plate and yours and muttered a “ _ Fuck you, Joe. Get your own damn dinner next time”  _ on your way past him.

Then, without even being subtle, he called out to you:

“ _ Have you always been this bitchy, or is this something you’ve saved until recently?” _

You froze, stopping just short of the kitchen counter on your way to put down the plates you’d just cleared. Tears immediately come up to sting your eyes and you feel your shoulders rise in tension.

Anger flashes through your veins. You could deal with Joe’s emotional lashing out for a few hours, but a week of it was proving to be  _ far _ too much.

You hear the chair he’s sitting on creak in the dining room, the sound shocking you out of your wounded stupor.

He wanted to be a dick? Fine. But that didn’t mean you had to stick around and take the brunt of it.

The plate full of food that he’d petulantly refused is carelessly thrown into the sink, the utensils clattering loudly against the ceramic while you more carefully rinse your empty plate off and load it into the dishwasher. When the floorboard by the mouth of the kitchen groans, you know that he’s hovering behind you to see what the noise was about.

As you take a glass from one of the cabinets and fill it with water, you keep your back to him. His scoff only adds fuel to the fire in your chest, but you still refuse to engage with him.

“What?” he says, his voice taking on a childish tone that has you clenching your teeth together. “You givin’ me the  _ silent treatment _ now—?”

“No- I’m not, Joseph,” you say with a more convincing coolness than you actually feel. “That would be stooping to  _ your _ level and that’s what you want me to do.”

After drinking the glass of water down in its entirety, you set it by the sink and turn to meet his look of snarky disbelief. You take a deep breath, clearing your throat before speaking.

“Just because I’ve stuck by you for the longest amount of time doesn’t mean I’ll be here forever. Not if you keep treating me like shit—”

“I don’t treat you like shit,” he cuts you off, bracing his forearm against the doorframe as his tone becomes dismissive. “I’m just fucking with you—”

“No, you’re  _ not _ ,” you sigh, walking around the corner towards the stairs. “You’re being  _ mean _ . And I’m over it.”

You hear his footsteps following you, coming to a stop at the foot of the stairs.

“Where are you going  _ now _ ?”

There’s a hint of anxiety in his voice, but you’re too angry to feel any sort of empathy- especially when his anxiety was from something as self-inflicted as insulting you.

“ _ To bed _ .”

You don’t elaborate any further, walking into the bedroom you both shared and grabbing the essential things you’ll need for the night. Downstairs, you hear Joe return to the living room and your throat feels tight again as the shitty things he’s said over the past week cycle through your mind. 

With a sniff you grab your pajamas, your pillows, your book, and the mug of water you kept by your bed and bring your bounty across the hallway. The guest room hadn’t been used since you’d last cleaned the sheets, so you had no qualms about using the bed tonight.

Well, at least in terms of cleanliness. It hurt more than you thought it would to solidly decide to sleep in a different bed than the idiot you’d loved for more than five years.

As you settled between the covers, you couldn’t help but acknowledge the bitter taste of stale anger in your mouth. You found yourself unable to lose yourself into the Poirot novel you’d recently picked up, your hurt so deep that not even Agatha Christie could distract you.

With a defeated sigh, you flick off the lamp and burrow yourself into the sheets that smelled of detergent rather than the familiar scent of Joe's shampoo and the spicy bar soap of yours he  _ swore _ he never used.

Just as you drifted off into a fitful sleep, you realized that this was the first time you’d actually slept alone since 1944. But, rather than linger too long on that sad thought, you simply rolled to your side and squeezed your eyes shut.

~

You feel like you’ve been asleep for barely an hour when you become aware of the feelings of fingers gently smoothing the finer, wispier strands along your hairline. It’s a rhythmic touch, so soft and careful that you get the feeling that these ministrations have been happening for a while. 

Only one person in the world does this with you- one person who derives more comfort from the action than you, the receiver of it.

You just don’t get why Joe’s doing this  _ now. _

As you open your eyes, you blink sleepily at Joe. he’s kneeling beside the bed, one hand brushing your hair while the other rests limply on the bed beside your sleep-clenched fist. Looking at him, you can see the slight redness around his eyes, despite the relative dark of the room. 

_ He’s been crying _ , you realize as consciousness returns to you.  _ He’s only stopped crying a little bit ago. _

He gives you a shy, tight smile that doesn’t really reach his eyes. “Hey.”

You have to clear your throat a few times before you feel confident that your voice can be heard through the sleep that’s nestled in your vocal cords. “Hey.”

Glancing quickly at the clock on the wall, seeing that it’s sometime after one am. “What are you doing here?”

Joe sniffs before answering, looking at his hand resting beside yours and scratching at some nonexistent stain on the bottom sheet. He looks incredibly young again, but rather than immature he looks more guilty.

“Couldn’t sleep,” his voice is rough, and he quirks his mouth in the anxious way he’s always done when he’s feeling an unwanted emotion but trying to hide it. “I didn’t like-  _ don’t _ like it when you’re not there….”.

You keep staring at him, waiting to see what he’s going to do or say next.

Apparently, he’s waiting to see what he does next as well.

Eventually, he lands on resting the hand not resting on your head over your fist. You don’t miss the tremble in his fingers. When you hook your thumb over his, you can hear the shaky sigh of relief slip past his lips.

“Figured you want a break from a  _ bitch like me— _ ”

“ _ You’re not a bitch. _ ”

You scoff at that, rolling onto your back so you can stare up at the ceiling.

“ _ No _ ? Then why’d you say it?”

For his part, Joe doesn’t make any move to follow you. You hear him sniff again and when he sighs you can feel the warmth of it on your cheek.

You bring a hand up to pinch at the bridge of your nose in a vain attempt to delay the tension headache you felt coming on.

“You don’t get to talk to me like that…. take shit out on  _ me _ when  _ you’re _ too emotionally constipated to deal with your own feelings—”

“ _ I’m sorry. _ ”

Joe’s voice is quiet, and when you turn to look at him again you can see that his eyes have become watery. You furrow your brows, hating the way your own throat begins to tighten with emotion.

When he takes a hitching breath, you tsk and bring a hand over to start pulling at his shirt.

“Get over here, Joe. just get in the bed—”

Joe clambers onto the bed, but rather than come to lay beside you he splays his entire body over yours and rests his head on your chest. The vulnerability of the action startles you, your hands hovering up at his sides as you try to wrap your head around the way you can feel his heart thrumming like a trapped hummingbird between his ribs, the wet heat of his tears dampening your shirt and making it stick to your skin.

“ _ I just _ ….I can’t stop thinking about it,” he whispers, drawing in a shaky breath when you finally allow your hands to rest along his spine. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you say, sliding one hand up to card through his hair. “You couldn’t let them eat, it would’ve _killed_ _them,_ Joe—”

His head lifts from your chest to look up at you. You can feel the surprise in his gaze as you continue to finger-comb his hair.

“How-  _ how do you know that’s what I'm talking abou _ t—?”

“Because today,  _ yesterday _ was the first anniversary of the day you first went to Kaufering—”

“Yeah, I  _ know that.  _ What I’m asking is how  _ you knew _ —”

With a huff you raise yourself up onto your elbows so you’re looking down at him.

“Because  _ today _ is the day  _ I _ went to the women’s camp down the road.”

You weren’t expecting the stunned look on Joe’s face. He blinks up at you as if you’d just spoken in Greek, his lips opening and closing like some gaping fish.

Eventually, he is able to shake himself out of his bafflement.

“I….doesn’t it bother you?”

You snort, raising an eyebrow at him. “ _ Jesus Chri _ \- of  _ course _ it does! What sort of a question is that?”

Joe is shaking his head before you finish speaking, lifting himself off of you and sitting right next to your hip. He seems to be struggling to process what you’ve just said, his eyes darting back and forth as if he's reading an invisible transcript of your conversation up to this point.

With a sigh, you sit up and flick the bedside lamp on, pushing yourself up so you are sitting cross-legged across from him. Your knee presses against his, and almost on reflex he brings his hand up to rest on your calf.

Clearing his throat, he looks down to where his hand rests on your leg, his thumb rubbing up and down across the skin in another self-soothing motion.

“I’ve….you never talk about it- you don’t act like it bothers you, though.”

“ _ Just because I don’t take it out on you, doesn’t mean it doesn’t _ **_kill me too, Joe_ ** _. _ ”

When he looks up at you, you can see tears falling down his cheeks. You frown

“ _ I’m sorry _ ,” he whispers again. “I’m  _ sorry _ , Y/N—”

“How long have I been telling you that you needed to talk to someone? How long has  _ Chuck _ been telling you that you can’t  _ act like it never happened _ ?”

When he makes to turn away from you, you lean over and take his face in your hands.

This wasn’t a new argument. You’d been insisting he join a support group since you both had returned stateside- you yourself had found one for frontline and war nurses after you’d noticed that the tremor in your left hand wasn’t going away.

Chuck had found a group of his own, and had said that Joe would like the group of guys he met with.

Joe, of course, had refused.

He’d always been stubborn, especially when it came to asking for help. Joe Liebgott had proved long ago was the type of man who would rather bleed out from a neck wound then seek help from  _ any _ of readily available medics around him- medics who he  _ knew _ and  _ trusted _ and even considered to be his  _ friends _ .

Joe made it clear that he was fine, and even if he  _ wasn’t _ he didn’t want to go ‘ _ bitch about it with a whole bunch of strangers like a goddamned baby’ _ .

You could feel his jaw working beneath your palms, mouth twisting into a scowl and his anger bubbling back to the surface. 

“I’m not going to any goddamn shrink. I don’t  _ want to— _ ”

You roll your eyes, taking your hands from his face and scoffing. “ _ For fuck’s sake, Joseph…. _ ”

“Don’t  _ ‘Joseph’ _ me, Y/N. I won’t do it—”

“Why not?” you snap, letting your voice get louder to match his. “

“‘Cause I _don’t_ _want_ _to—_ ”

“ _ That’s _ not a good enough reason- that’s  _ not _ an  _ answer _ ! Why are you being so stubborn about this—?”

**“** **_Because what if this is just how I am?! What if I’m just a dick and the war’s got nothing to do with it, huh?”_ **

You suck in a breath at his outburst, his words hitting you like a punch in the chest.

Joe’s eyes are wet again, his hands clenched into fists in his lap and the veins in his forearms tensely pronounced as his body trembles. The sight makes your heart break.

His lip quivers as he wipes his nose quickly with the back of his fist. 

“What if... this is just what I’m  _ like _ now-  _ some angry asshole who can’t stop hurting you? _ ”

You curse under your breath, kicking the blanket down and off of your legs. This time, you are the one clambering onto him, sitting in his lap with your legs wrapping around his hips as you pull him into the tightest embrace you can. You squeeze him as if you fear he might blow away, encouraging his face into your neck and sucking in a deep breath when you feel the hot stick of tears on your shirt again.

Joe’s holding you just as tightly, his fingertips pressing hard into the skin of your sides. The sound of him crying is a broken, panicked sound. 

As you kiss the side of his head you close your eyes, a few tears of your own slipping out- tears for  _ him _ , tears for  _ you _ . Tears for both of you and all of your friends who now had to live with all this hurt with absolutely no certainty of whether or not things would ever be okay again.

_ We’re too young to feel this broken… _

“I don’t know, my love,” you murmur, shaking your head at his choked apologies. “I just don’t know…”

Using the light grip you have in his hair, you pull his face back enough so you can rest your forehead against his.

“But I  _ do know _ that  _ this _ can’t keep happening….I love you too much to watch you get like this. And I know you love me but I won’t let you treat me like shit.”

He’s nodding, tears making his eyelashes stick together. You press you lips lightly to his, the kiss tasting like salt and heartbreak and remorse. 

“Promise me this is it,” you whisper before he can deepen the kiss. “Swear to me that you’ll go with Chuck this week….if not for you then for me—”

“I will, I will,” he says, his lips seeking yours out again for a headier kiss. “Don’t go, just please don’t leave me—”

He kisses you until you can no longer breathe without tasting his air, apologies being peppered across your face and ‘I love you’s being traced along the bare skin of your back as he gets a hand under your shirt. The way he’s touching you isn’t sexual as much as it is desperate. 

He’s never been good with words, but his hands and touches have always spoken to the deeper feelings hiding beneath the surface.

“Stop being a dick and I’ll consider it.”

You know that this isn’t the end of the conversation, that there are a lot more rough times you both will have to go through before either of you are able to come out the other side of your trauma.

But for now, you both allow yourself to hope.

The moment you fell in love with Joe Liebgott, you knew that you would inevitably fight. Playful fights, genuine fights, and pointless fights.

You were nearly as stubborn as he was, and that wasn’t going to change any time soon.

And, because you loved him and he loved you, you also knew that neither of you was going to give up on the other.

No, you were going to fight for him just as hard as he was for you.

And maybe, just maybe- that’d be enough to save you.


End file.
